


we'll take our time

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Hotels, M/M, More pairings to follow, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're so struck on him." Andre gives his best impression of a pre-teen girl to tease him as he wipes glasses for the waiting staff actually on this shift unlike Marco who was covering for Mustafi's break. </p><p>Marco vehemently denies the blonde's accusation. He was not "struck" on Mario Götze. He just had unfinished business, maybe a tiny inconsequential grudge against the footballer. Half grudge and half-respect and a full head of denial, that was Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since I joined the footy rpf fandom and launched unsuspected paths. So I decided it's time for a new project, something big and something true to my heart. 
> 
> I've also been binge-watching Jane the Virgin, and I took a bit of inspiration from that and Sense8 and a couple of other things.

Marco isn't anything special, being a waiter at one of the top hotel chains in the country doesn't require anything from him that couldn't be met by some plain Jane off the street, but he did love his job. It paid well, he got benefits and free booze was always a plus. The occasional celebrity guest spotting was a game among the staff but discretion was the key so it never amounted to much beyond a mass text of 'Sandra Bullock has been with the masseuse for three freaking hours. Can you believe that?'

So it was a normal day in the Hotel Bashor Palace when his life went into a spectacular free-fall of unpredictability. Andre had been the source of the problem as it was. Rushing in late with a bit of gossip from the front desk was a common occurrence in Marco's life since he had gotten the job for his best friend and cardinal life-mate. Andre came bounding for him at the lockers like a puppy who couldn't avoid a collision due to a slippery floor. 

"Marco, compadre, my soulfriend and one and only birdbro. Guess what I heard from Toni, who heard it from Fips who was there when Lisa checked in a star guest last night." 

Guessing games were not Marco's strong suit and really, he didn't have time for it. His fifteen minutes were almost up. 

"Who are you gonna blog about this time in Celebrity Watch blog post #230?" Andre cycled through excitement, elation and nervously laughed off the blog comment, looking around before whispering.

"You know I don't blog about our guests because I could lose my job over it, silly Marco. Where did you hear such a thing about little old me? Anyway, guess whose favorite footballer is in our presidential suite because he wants to use the recovery spa services as per the doctor's orders and we all know old Frannie is in Miss Silvia's pocket when it comes to recommendations of high profile clients. Not that I blame him, I mean she is _fierce_ for an older woman like I've got no doubts she can kick my ass." Andre rambled off.

Marco had a shiver run down his spine. He looked at his watch, felt the pulse of his heart beat through the thin skin of his wrist to warm the metal against it. He trusted his gut when it said he should stop listening to Andre before he got sucked into riveting conversation about football. He didn't feel like going against his instinct today. His mother always said he had a knack for trouble but he'd gotten better at sniffing at out over the years. 

Football was a tired subject between them anyway.

"I've gotta go help Ads at the bar. Jack is out sick again. I'm starting to think sick is code for massively hungover." Andre's face falls predictably at not being able to spread the gossip and sensing the change in Marco's mood. They had been friends since he was seven and Andre was five, the blonde was adept at reading Marco. 

"Don't you want to know who it is?" He pouts comically and looks ridiculous enough to pull an eye-roll from Marco.

"I'll find out eventually." Marco pats Andre's head roughly, causing Andre to fuss over his hair. The red head laughs, a short bark of a chuckle before walking out of the double doors that separate them from the rest of the hotel. 

"It better not be a Chelsea player!" He calls out to an indignant 'hey', knowing Andre had a soft spot for those blues and would continuously get into arguments with Jack about the superior Premier League team and who would get the title. 

Marco would regret not getting the information sooner because this particular celebrity would end up rocking his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned and thanks for reading!


	2. blame it on anybody else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the ensemble cast

Marc-Andre or Manu's mini-me, the third musketeer of their outfit was surly as per usual in his bellboy outfit. Marco had finally gotten around to getting the disgusting sandwich Marc preferred from the kitchen with a cheek pinch for his troubles. Marc had already been on probation for 'accidentally' taking Leno's jacket, being an ass to guests and, the piece of resistance, sabotaging an ice sculpture for the main foyer all in Bernd's name. 

Marc was lucky most people took his insults as sarcasm and the doublemint twins confused everyone on staff at least once over the years. Marco almost thought Marc had gotten the same haircut on purpose, just to pull off this foiled plan to get Leno fired. He didn't pretend to understand why there was such a hatred between them. Andre gleefully yelled about sexual tension and wouldn't shut up until Marc threatened to stab him with a nearby object or someone agreed with the verdict. (Half the staff would admit under duress that perhaps the idea had merit, but never to Andre's face)

"Please eat this atrocity in the three minutes of break you have, standing around for some luggage, so I don't have a suffer." Marco wanted to vomit whenever he got a whiff of eggs and tomatoes on bread. It's not a sandwich; it's a bloody mistake.

"Legally, they can't take away my breaks. I'm a full-time employee and Rafa already talked to Director Iniesta. It was all a misunderstanding." Marc took a bite of his lunch, dear god was that avocado? There wasn't anything in there that qualified as a sandwich besides the in between slices of french bread part. Marco swallowed down retching noises that were fighting him to come out. Rafa was the co-owner of the hotel, technically still his father but Thiago was pushing for more responsibility and Rafa was actually the more responsible brother. 

Marco didn't pry on why Marc was close enough to their employers to be on first name basis, it's been a closely guarded secret of his for the past two years and if Andre's persistence hadn't cracked him, nothing would. Marc was the type of person to address everyone by their last name and title if he had to be professional which was why it was such a puzzle 'Rafa' had been figuring in his orbit for the last couple of years. 

They had both applied for open positions together, but Marco had been called back and Marc hadn't. That is until a few weeks later when Marco was surprised to see Marc in uniform at the front desk, glaring at Bernd. The rest was history and unfortunately for Andre, Marco never got to the bottom of it. 

"Whatever, you're lucky Leno was more pissed off that you ripped a button off of his jacket in that whole fiasco than sabotaging his job. You guys are so codependent in your hatred." Marc turned the grumpy cat factor up by five, chewing out his stewing anger. 

"Like you're one to talk. Andre is practically attached to your hip, idiot." There was the Marc everyone loved, insulting and aiming for your soft, fleshy parts with his barbs. Marco laughed boisterously, gaining some stares. 

"Dude, you're so jealous. It's okay, You're an introvert. Andre is an extrovert. We're all still soulbros until the end of the world." Marc rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly and Marco knew he got him. Marc-Andre was just a crunchy exterior with a gooey middle. You just had to know how to handle him right or get a broken tooth.

"I had to bring up like fifty pounds of luggage for Mr. Football Star. Leno had to deal with Mrs. Schmidt again and her dog Candy, so I guess I got the better deal. She's getting her toes done." Marco's eyebrows went up. Plastic surgery was a scary world. 

"The dog or Mrs. Schmidt?" Marc started choking on his sandwich. Marco pounded on his back which only resulted in Marc coughing up a lung instead. When they were done being a sideshow attraction to the masses and Lisa at the concierge desk, Marc croaked out an 'Idiot.'

Marco just sighed and patted his chest reassuringly, reminding them of their bond.

"Love you too buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get to Mario just yet. These are gonna be pretty short until I figure out what the heck I'm doing I guess. Thanks for reading. Any thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT!!!**
> 
> So I'm giving this another go, and it's a bit different in formatting this time around. 
> 
> #1: This will now be stories in the same universe but not necessarily chronological in story-telling. I think it's a little easier for me that way than regular chapters.
> 
> #2: Idk how familiar you guys are with Jane the Virgin but it has a narrator who breaks the fourth wall etc, and I'm trying that out? I won't like bog it down with -breaks- but if it doesn't suit, I can take it out.
> 
> #3: yes, this is still a soulmate AU. It hasn't been totally explained but I promise I'll go into more detail without just throwing words at you.

He tells himself it’s not as big of a deal as Andre was making it out to be, even if he almost didn’t make his great escape and would’ve landed in the pool.

Apologizing to Marc had alleviated some of his doom and gloom feeling at least.

-flashback-

He barrels into Marc who was trying and failing to heave a stack of chairs to the outdoor area where the expo guests were still bizarrely normal to counterpoint the panicking dribble coming out of Marco’s mouth.

“You need to hide me. Wait, can I borrow your jacket and ID? That would be easier to leave. You wouldn’t even have to swap really just–let–me–have–it.” He tugged at it with every word but Marc-Andre was still stubbornly refusing to lift his arms.

“What the hell is the matter with you? I’m in the middle of something.” he gestured at the chairs with a scowl on his face and ire in his eyes at the interruption of his mano-a-mano with the inanimate objects.

_And then Marco said something he hadn’t acknowledged for both their sake’s in his haste to get away from the person he hadn’t acknowledged for even longer than the first not-acknowledged secret. Confused? Don't worry._

“Your stupid soulmate just showed up with Mario Götze to the party and I made eye contact and it’s a long story, so give me your jacket dammit.” At the word 'soulmate', Marc's struggle ended with a crash.

_Wait, what?_

Marc-Andre looked as pale as a ghost, no, as pale as the tablecloths outside, where his chairs were going to be expected any minute now…

“How did you know?”

_How /did/ Marco know? Good question Marc._

Marco was irritated and cagey about more secrets that would not be mentioned for fear of his safety and Andre’s big mouth.

“I’m not an idiot, Ter Stegen, Andre’s always talking about you schmoozing up to Rafa alright? It doesn’t take a giant leap from "secret lovers” to him being one of your Cardinals. God knows you warm up to people slower than a cat wanting a bath.“

The look Marc gave him would’ve been a lot more heart-breaking if Marco’s heart wasn’t already doing a samba of panic. His ears turned red in regret of saying everything out loud like this, but desperation made him hasty and gave him no filter whatsoever.

"You can’t tell anyone, please, Marco. It’s supposed to be a secret.” He shook his head at the serious, stiff tone his childhood friend pleaded with and punched his arm lightly.

“Don’t be dumb. Who am I going to tell? Andre can figure it out on his own if he wants. I don’t care if Alcantara is your North and I’m not gonna pry, so now can you please give me your jacket and your card, so I can get out of here. It’ll take me 20 minutes at most. I won’t try to get away with murder or give it to Leno to fuck up again, okay?”

Marc gustily accepted the terms with a long-suffering sigh.

-end flashback-

Andre had squealed like a happy piglet in mud when he heard _the_ Mario Götze had asked about him at the bar. His gossip meter was through the roof and he had finally weaseled his way out of his actual work to poke at Marco’s patience and find out more about the situation.

Marco, on the other hand, had been feeling queasy all day, but especially on this trip to the private suites. The cart he was pushing squeaked as ominously as he imagined a cart could.

“I wonder if he’s met Michael Ballack. I mean, he was called up before he retired right?” Andre mused to himself, looking up as if he could tap into some unknown stats sheet in his head by checking the ceiling.

“You shouldn’t mention that name around Lahm. He gets all weird about it.” Marco casually drops the tidbit, knowing in fact, that Andre would most certainly mention it and the Director of Staff would be most unhappy.

Andre’s face puckers up with eyes comically wide which wasn’t exactly the reaction he had wanted from his best friend.

“He has a wife and child,” he shouts, jumping to the wrong conclusion as he does, causing Marco to yank him into an alcove of the hall where the vending machine and ice was tucked away.

“How do you still have a job?” Marco grits his teeth. The outburst made no sense to any outsider but it could have drawn attention from the guests, not to mention gotten him in trouble. Andre wasn’t even supposed to be on the delivery rounds with him.

“You had that face, slightly constipated but trying to hide it, are you saying Fips and Michael Ballack know each other?” Andre looked ready to run down every flight of stairs to the lobby to find the older man and accost him with insane questions.

“How on earth would I know that? No, Andre. Besides if Michael Ballack had been in the area, you would’ve camped out and known about it before I did. Your damn man-crush aside, he’s not the one that’s going to murder you.” Marco replies darkly.

Andre smiles blithely, without a care to the par for the course threat.

“So, are you going to tell me why Mario Götze asked for you?” _Crafty_ , Andre, lulling him into an exasperated huff to go straight for the kill with the pertinent question. 

He shushed him, looking out from their hiding spot for anybody else who might be around.

“He doesn’t have bat ears to hear the entire floor. He’s not a bloody poltergeist you can summon by name, I’d think Fips is closer to achieving that status, wait have we said his name three times? Anyway, spill," He pokes him with a jab of his bony finger. 

"Andre..." He starts, falters out of paranoia, knowing his luck and feeling trapped by the entirety of the hotel. "Can we just get off of this floor first? I'll tell you after, alright?" He practically pleads with his best friend and Andre only hesitates for a moment before going to the housekeeping cart and doing his job for him.

"If you stop looking like I'm going to murder your dog, fine. I'll even go check on your poltergeist. See if he needs any fresh towels or something. Hmph." Andre acted all out of sorts but Marco know something had tipped him off that it was no joking matter and rebooted his persistent prodding settings enough to back off. 

The job was easier when Andre wasn't being a nag and the Do Not Disturb sign on some of the doors made Marco sigh in relief as they approached the last door. 

So of course that was when Marco met his fate and Mario came out of his suite.


End file.
